Blissful Distraction
by KnightOfHeartProtectorOfSoul
Summary: Dave is convinced to eat a decent meal in a local café. There, he meets the waiter that never seems to stop smiling. John Egbert. Interested, Dave attempts to speak to him, and John makes a vow to make the handsome shaded customer smile. But there is more to it all than John anticipates. DaveJohn café AU.
1. The Man Who Stared At The Rain

**A/N: okay! Hello! I own nothing but the plot, of course. Which is a shame, because these characters are precious uwu. But anyway. I hope you enjoy it! This will be multi chapter so, this is not the end. It's actually the first non-supernatural fic I've written. Whoa. Do leave a review if you can, enjoy!**

It was raining. It was raining that night too. the soft sigh that escaped the lips of Dave Strider went almost completely unheard.

He looked towards the actual Cafe. The interior was a nice balance of red, white, and blue. Red seating, blue walls, white tables and counter. It was nice. Though through the eyes of the sighing man who stared at the rain, it looked almost monochrome. Black, white, grey. The colour not quite reaching him, making him smile and relax as the colours did to others.

Nothing in particular caught his eye.

Until a ruffle of black hair, buck teeth and blue eyes slipped behind the counter.

He was talking to a girl who looked rather similar to him, buck teeth and black hair, bright green where he had a shining blue.

He laughed at something she said, and nodded at the next. She then walked away to a table.

It only took half a minute for the shoddy blonde in the booth seat to realise that the waiter with the bright eyes and soft smile, as Dave had dubbed him within the confines of his-own mind, was walking towards him.

He did look rather shoddy, did Dave.

His red hoodie was warm and baggy, with toothpaste stains from before he left his even shoddier apartment. His jeans had stains on and were faded, old and tattered. If they weren't skinny jeans it would be more noticeable. His converse were falling apart, and Dave himself did not look very presentable to the interesting stranger, who had reached his table, notebook in hand.

"Hello! I'm John, what can I get you?" John. The name seemed to be displayed above him on a sign, blaring out "_John"_ now that Dave knew it. It seemed like an obvious name, it felt like he should have known his name was John. A piece had clicked into place, a name to a soft-looking face.

Cogs whirred in the thought-space of Dave's mind. What _did _he want? He wasn't actually hungry. He was tired, but the ache of fatigue was an all over feeling he was used to by now. Maybe a coffee?

John was still smiling, waiting patiently. Effectively blocking the decorative board with the menu and prices on it.

"I… Don't really know what you have here, but I'll have a coffee to drink, if you do that?" the more he thought of his coffee, the more appealing it seemed to get. He would be Sorely disappointed if they did not.

"We do! I'll get you a menu if you would like. So, how do you like your coffee, Sir?" John was still smiling, a soft breeze of the café's door opening and closing ruffled his hair. Soft light filled his eyes, and they seemed to glow.

Dave's eyes were black plastic and mirrored lenses, reflecting light, absorbing heat. As far the world knew, Dave was the man who sighed and stared at the rain with glasses for eyes.

His title was getting lengthy.

"Yeah, thanks. Black with two sugars." John scribbled it down on the little notebook he had pulled out on his way over to Dave's table.

An energetic nod and yet another giga-smile sent his way, and John was off, back to the counter.

Dave offered him no sentiment in return, but the slightest twitch upward of the lips, in a once practised way that has been left unused far too long. It felt rather awkward to do , so Dave assumed it was awkward to see.

With John, the bright demeanour he carried went with him, the sun yanked away from the rainclouds and tugged with the blue sky to the counter.

It soon returned with a nicely decorated menu. Or rather, soon _John _returned with a nicely decorated menu. John with the invisible name. The name you thought you should already know, before he tells you what it is, but as soon as he does it suddenly all makes sense.

That is John.

He handed Dave the menu. "We also have a pumpkin pie special today! That's five dollars, for the soup. Hehe." A short laugh, he felt slightly more awkward. Dave blamed it on his lack of response.

"Thanks man." He gave it a quick look, his eyes stopped on the "Sweet things" section.

He remembered the taste of apple pie, of various brands and makes, homemade and store bought. They all swirled around In his mind, as he tried to guess which generic flavour it would taste like.

Upon further inspection, all of the food was homemade. So he had an idea of what it would be like.

He hadn't had apple pie since he walked in after his graduation of high school, already accepted into a local college, high school over, his Brother presented him with his homemade apple pie.

It was the best pie he ever had, his heart and stomach ached for it, wanted to reach into the past and have it before him, so that he could taste it again. Even if for the last time.

John looked no less patient, as Dave stared at the words "Scrumptious Apple Pie" unsure whether he could bring himself to do it. He looked to John and fidgeted. Feeling scrutinised by the bold eyes of the waiter. Even though no scrutiny was held within them.

A few moments of furious scribbling with John biting his tongue, slipping the menu in his armpit as the pen he was using was running out of ink,He frowned slightly, creasing his brows at the scribbled "Apple piE" as he had gotten frustrated with his e, it became a capital.

"I'll get that to you as fast as I can." Dave was graced with another smile, and the sunshine that was John was yanked away from him like a blanket in the winter. And he was left alone.

He watched John make his coffee. He danced and hummed and talked to the woman he had been talking to earlier. He popped in two sugars and placed it on a tray with an extra sugar and milk in case he felt he needed it, apparently.

He itched somewhere in his mind to talk to John. Ask for his number, or if he had Pesterchum, his Chum-handle. Though not many people did anymore.

He found himself oddly fascinated and interested in John. He wanted to know how he did his hair to make it look like it had been windswept in a mountain breeze. He wanted to know how long he had been a waiter.

He wanted to know John.

His order arrived, warm and creamy and smelling delightful. But the warmth didn't quite sit right in comparison to the waiter beside him. He still smiled brightly. He spoke to Dave in a kind voice spilling with enthusiasm, making Dave want to feel just as enthusiastic, to chat with him and ask him all the questions he wanted too, to get to know John.

The man behind the waiter's uniform, so to speak.

"Here you go! One apple pie, and one coffee, black with two sugars. Enjoy! And if you need anything, tell me, okay?" a nod. A stoic nod filled with bland grey apathy and a sense of emptiness when it came to emotion Dave wondered if he could actually _turn it off. _

He had yet to find that switch within himself. He wished he could find it. He wanted to turn off the monochrome. The black white and grey. To stop staring at the rain and wondering and start staring at_ life_ and _living. _

John was on his way. Taking the orders of others. Dave drank his coffee. He ate his pie. He kept a subtle eye on John. He hoped he wasn't being rude, or creepy. His odd fascination just wouldn't let him look away.

It wasn't even the type of fascination he had felt before, the type he could understand. It was the type where he wanted to know everything about John. He wanted to be close with him, to know when his birthday is and his favourite things. To know where he has any birthmarks or scars. To know if he has a middle name.

He wanted John to be as curious.

It was a strange fascination. One that a few months ago, he would've brushed aside, ignored, and not bothered with. But now, the thrilling notion of _feeling something _besides empty, drunk, or, to put it simply, _done. _Dave couldn't help but develop his curiosity and fascination. Build on it, think of ways to talk to him, what to ask.

A foolish fantasy. But a distracting one.

Time ticked on. Dave seemed to be aware of that all of the time. Especially recently. The soul crushing reminder his youth and life was draining away as the seconds on the small blue clock on the wall moved on.

It made him cringe quietly to himself.

He looked around, finally done. He had taken his time sipping his coffee, giving it time to cool. Debating whether to add the extra milk and sugar. He did, because John went to get it for him in case.

John.

His thoughts had been going full circle. His curiosity to know more about John. How did he like his coffee? Did he like apples? Dave used to take pride in smelling like apples.

Now he smells of cheap deodorant and alcohol.

He looked around, there was a small sign saying both John and his counterpart, were on break. They were sorry, and were short on staff, but would be hanging around if they were needed.

"_Hey! John and I are on break right now, but if you need anything we will be around! This is our most efficient method as were low on staff! Don't be afraid to talk about anything!"_

His shades reflect the lights as they move to the boy sipping Pepsi behind the counter. John.

Looking between his plates and the empty counter, with nothing but John sipping contentedly, Dave made the decision to speak to him, using his dishes as a conversation starter. It took about ten minutes of self-preparation and reminding himself John won't be on break forever, to actually get up.

He stood and took his plate, everything else was stacked on it. And walked over to where John was. He attempted to offer a small smile, but was 99.9% sure it looked horrid because he wasn't really sure how to smile attractively in any way.

He was sure of this.

But if you were to ask John what Dave's face looked like, he'd say struggling greatly to smile. And he would tell you it was that moment in his life he made the decision he would do his best to make this customer smile before they parted ways, which looked like soon at that exact moment.

The dishes made a rattling sound as they were placed down, and Dave sat before them, clearing his throat.

"Uh, hey. I don't wanna bother you on your break or anything man, but I'm done and I was wondering what to do with these?" his voice didn't sound great. He knew that. He did look great. He knew that. He didn't smell great. He knew that. But he tried to seem appealing none the less.

To satisfy that odd curiosity. He would stress this was not a creepy, obsessive curiosity, it was the kind that can only be described as curiosity because there isn't enough words for it. He was interested in John, to put it simply. Interested sounded better, he would tell you.

"Oh, that's fine! Leave them, I'll get them in just a second!" he smiled Dave's way, and Dave nodded in response. Unable to drag the motivation to try and smile.

John's smile barely faltered.

"So, I told you my name, mind telling me yours?" the shock that john was actually trying to continue talking to him was like a smack in the face, his eyes widened slightly. But no one could see that. He was good for now.

"Dave. Dave Strider." He spun in his seat. A 20 year old man swaying in his seat like a bored teen who wasn't actually allowed to spin on his chair. Rotating his hips but going no further than about 100 degrees round.

"Nice to meet you Dave! I haven't seen you around here before, I hope we've made a good first impression." He was clearly meaning the small café. They had.

"Yeah. I like it. I live nearby, actually I just… never really stopped to appreciate little places like this before I guess." He'd never stopped to appreciate the little things in life, in general.

A swift nod from John.

"I wouldn't have either, if my sister didn't own the place." An eyebrow raised. Sister? The green eyed girl?

"She hangs around here. Looks like me but with green eyes and y'know, is a girl." Dave nodded again. "Yeah I saw her." John smiled in return. A thing he does, clearly. He was the living translation of ": B" on a human being.

"Oh! You need to pay hehehe, hang on." His fingers lightly glide across the surface of the counter, reaching the till. In seconds its open and Dave's still in a daze.

"Oh, heh, yeah I do. How much?" he didn't bring a lot. He didn't plan to eat a lot.

"Nine dollars and fifty cents, please." The word please sounded softer than his other words. Like changing a brand of pillow, a new brand of softness for something already soft.

After rummaging around a few minutes, a ten dollar bill is produced, and a five. Both are handed over. John is told to keep the change.

"Whoa, thanks Dave!" the seat flumf'd as he sat down opposite Dave once again.

"It's okay." Was all he could think to reply.

"So, are you just chilling around for a while? We have Wi-Fi if you want? Or are you heading off?" John seemed hopeful.

Hopeful that Dave would stay.

Dave doesn't want to go home, but under the scrutiny of the three patrons and John's sister who would soon pop out from wherever she was, he felt uncomfortable, like they all new how messed up his head was at that second.

Like they all knew _everything _that was making it hard to breathe. Making it hard to get through his days.

He chewed his lip in thought.

"I… honestly don't wanna go back home. But I want to be somewhere with like minus two people. I'm not in a very sociable mood." John sighed through his nose in thought. The little cogs whirring around in his head, metaphorically, Dave would hope.

He wouldn't be too chuffed to discover the cute waiter was a robot, though the plot twist would be more interesting still.

"Hmm, that's quite the problem you have there. Oh! I think I have it! I'm off for the day in a couple hours, and I know a cute little park no one goes to anymore. I could show you? If you'd like to go?"

_Holy fucking shit. _

Dave's thoughts were rather eloquent.

Was- was the cute waiter, John, the cute little waiter with the blue-topaz style eyes and the ruffle-me hair, _asking him out. To a park. Alone. Together. _

Yes. Yes he was.

"Sure. I'll make a tab. I'd like some apple juice if you have any, as soon as your off your break, of course." The smile on Johns face returned. Again. It was becoming a pleasant and familiar site.

The look transforms into one of a man who had just thought of a rather clever idea.

"You're going to be pretty bored if you're waiting around! I can hook your phone up to the Wi-Fi we have here! Do you have Pesterchum? I can keep you amused when I'm not serving anyone, I'd hate for you to be really bored!"

_Holy __**fucking **__shit. _

The surprise was enough for Dave to need to take a few seconds to make sure he heard that, not only was this waiter a pleasant, rather attractive distraction, he was _smooth as fuck. _

The urge to get to know him only increased, because how could a cute bumbling dork get to be that smooth.

_It must be a god given gift, but fuck that guy, because recently he's been a massive asshole. _

Dave sighed, without realising he had done so aloud, and caught himself. "Sorry. I thought about something else. Yeah, I do." John nodded, deciding not to question it. His breath caught when John pulled out his pen, the pen he wrote Dave's order down with.

"Give me your hand, please?" his smile softened, from a bright light to a soft glow. Dave nodded, he finally removed his slightly clammy hand from his red hoodie, and held it out for John, who took it and wrote a chum handle.

_ectoBiologist._


	2. The Knight and The Prince

The walk towards the park john had suggested was quiet and comfortable. The breeze was soft and the sun was still in the sky. Their pace was comfortable, the atmosphere wasn't awkward.

It was nice.

The park came into view and John was beside himself with excitement. "There it is Dave! I haven't been here for years!" he grinned toward Dave who offered a meagre twitch upward of the lips in return. John led him to the swings, and they sat. And they swung. And they talked.

In the café, they talked. John would take an order and casually stroll back to the counter, take out his phone, and answer Dave. Dave would sit there and watch John answer him, so he knew when to check his phone. While they waited for John's shift to end.

And on the swings, they spoke again. Face to face. Without red and blue text and nonsensical usernames in a chat client.

Dave told John he was from Texas. John said he was born there, in Washington. They got to know the basic things, favourite colours, (which were quite obviously blue and red), ages, birthdays, pets or siblings or neither? John had his sister Jade, and two cousins the two of them were rather close too. Dave had Rose.

John didn't ask about Bro. Dave was grateful.

On the swings, their conversation brought up Dave and his swords.

"It's pretty cool I guess. You got anything like that? So if you need to defend yourself or anything your cool?" John hmm'd and swung extra high, Dave was just pushing himself backwards and forwards a few inches. "I have my hammer! It's not really a proper weapon but I'm pretty handy with it!" the adorable thought of John trying to make something himself, or the terrifying thought of John going up against something dangerous with nothing but a DIY tool occupied Dave's mind before John spoke again.

"But your swords sound awesome, Dave! You could be like one of those secret superheroes from the movies! Saving the day with your awesome sword!" he laughed and Dave smirked.

"Nah, I don't see myself saving the day really. I'm no hero." John slowed his swings down quite considerably so he could talk to Dave properly.

"I think you could be! You would be that Knight that the princess swooning over you!" he gave a buck-toothed smile that was honestly one of the cutest thing Dave had ever seen a grown man do, according to John, he was 20, only a year older than Dave.

But the word "_princess_" made him squirm.

Dave was transferred to different schools three times in his younger days, as he was bullied for being gay. Having all the princesses swooning was not a concept that Dave was too partial too.

John was going to find out eventually, and it wasn't the deepest darkest secret Dave had. So he may as well make a joke with it.

"Honestly, I would prefer a prince." The black haired young man had a confused look, while he figured that out, and then, after a gut wrenching, heart stopping few seconds, the light bulb appeared, and John had gotten it.

Once again, John smiled.

"Okay then! The Prince swoons over you, and your amazing swordsmanship." He laughed and smiled at Dave, a bright dazzling smile, because Johns smiles were just different shades of dazzling, never anything less.

Dave nodded. "Of course. My _swordsmanship_ is the best there is." It took John a second to get it, but he was laughing at Dave's joke a second later. Going a bright red, all the way to his ears.

"I'm afraid you'd have to prove that to the Prince, can you defeat a dragon in a sword fight?" Dave raised an eyebrow, and quickly came up with a response. "No, that asshole isn't worth the Knights time." John smirked at him, and the blonde wasn't sure what to expect.

"But how would you defeat the dragon?" he asked, eyes glimmering even more than they usually do.

"I would have a sass-off with that bitch of course, throw in some rhymes and that dragon has no chance, Prince is saved." Rather proud of himself, Dave pushed himself for a little swing as John replied.

"The Prince is astonished at your mad skills, but isn't sure whether the sass match is lame or cool!" lame? Dave almost pouted that John kind of just called him lame.

"It was so very cool. The Knight continues to be amazingly cool." Eager to reply, John smiled at Dave once again, and replied almost too quickly.

"But you never impressed him with your amazing skills with a sword! Amazing sass or no, not being able to see the Knight take down the dragon with his mighty sword might just be a bit of a turn off man." and suddenly Dave knew exactly where to take the conversation, he would speak as he would have two months ago.

"He has yet to use his sword though. The great mercy he showed by whopping that dragon via sass would be its own kind of turn on." Eyebrows raised on Johns head. Surprised he had come out of his shell.

"To some, sure. But what if this Prince wanted to see some action, hmm?" a light red dusted both their cheeks. Especially after what Dave replied with.

"Then he would have to show the Prince his swordsman skills, but without killing no dragons." John wasn't sure what made him go on, he was blushing a cherry red.

"Oh? And how would he do that?" John was pretty sure he made himself out to be a creep in that moment, and berated himself internally.

"He'd ask if he could prove his skills using his other sword. In a more private setting I'm sure. Can't be swordman-ing in some field or some shit" wind blew and barely reached their faces, as all blood was heading there. They both knew exactly what they had insinuated.

"Well, the Prince would say that if he could win over his heart, then he could show him his sword skills anytime he wanted to." And yet John continued. He wanted to know what Dave would say next.

"Well The Knight will do his very best"

John heart leapt.

The apparently sexual conversation was dropped soon after, yet both Dave and John's hearts raced long afterwards.

They played on the swings, they shared banter on the see-saw (John was heavier than Dave, so he was the butt of many pranks involving john moving the see-saw up and down suddenly with good speed and force. Dave was not amused)

"I'm sorry Dave, but I had to!" John was laughing, tears welling in his eyes and Dave cradled his poor, abused, crotch. He needed that for things. Getting his dick beaten in by a see-saw was not one of those things.

Another groaned; _fuck you_ was his response. He wasn't actually that mad. It just hurt a lot but John's laugh soothed it and made him was to laugh too, because he was pretty sure his face was hilarious, as well as him rolling around shouting obscenities, groaning and asking what he did to deserve this. Before shutting up, because he knew exactly what he'd done to deserve a lot of things, and suddenly he didn't feel like laughing anymore.

John helped him up and apologised one last time before they settled huddled together in a play fort, the sky was darkening and the looming thought of going home hung over Dave. Like a child who was playing outside. He didn't want to go back. But instead of it being homework and bedtime he would go back to, it was the force of the past few months re-assaulting him, grief smashing into him like a ton of bricks.

His falling face was caught be John. Who raised an eyebrow in concern, about to ask if he was alright- The emotion was quickly hidden once again.

They stretched out next to each other in the small wooden play castle. The roof over their heads was covered in mosses and graffiti, apparently "Adam is a Dick" and frankly Dave was surprised kids didn't ask questions about the 99% sexual graffiti teens had scrawled on the fort.

They said nothing. Even when the sound of rain pitter-pattered over their heads, even when some on it dripped through the gaps in the wood, landing on Dave's face like a tear.

It was a few minutes later john spoke up.

"Are you okay? I did whack you pretty hard." He looked up to Dave, who had a few inches on him.

"I'm fine now. Though that was a dick move man." John chuckled softly, amused at the dick pun.

Another upward quirk of the lips from Dave.

"Hey, Dave?" John wasn't looking at Dave. He was looking out into the park from the small window opposite them. Rain battered down, and it was an unspoken agreement that neither of them were leaving the fort until it had stopped.

"Hmm?" he looked to John from the rain, then to the rain again. He was the man who stared at the rain, after all.

"We should go somewhere again. But plan it first. So you don't have to wait two or three hours in a café waiting for me to finish my shift." It was a good suggestion, and Dave liked the idea of seeing John again.

"Sure. Pester me when you're off work." The nod John gave was heard, not seen. The soft "yeah…" was carried to Dave's ears by the wind and it barely reached him, it was so quiet.

The sun had descended, and the rain was letting up, it was with great and rather sickening anxiety than Dave realised he would have to go home soon.

He hoped he stocked up on alcohol. He was going to need it.

But knowing Rose, she probably had raided his apartment while he was gone and drained every single drop.

Probably.

Dave almost physically sighed. And decided to do what he had been all night. Focus on John, as he melted Dave's problems away. Distracted him from nearly everything except the brightest of blue and the darkest of blacks. Everything except bright smiles and buckteeth.

Everything but him.

Dave didn't bother thinking _why_ or _how_. He just relished in the mere thought of _can_ and _is._ He could lose himself in John, he didn't know how or why, but he could and would, so he didn't care. It didn't matter, he could figure it out later.

Dave arrived back at his apartment in the middle of the night holding a six-pack of beer he was hoping the thought of John could distract him from.

He opened the door and stepped inside his own personal hell.

The grief and the pain rushes back in what felt like some sort of heart attack. Dave had to stop in the door and compose himself a little. John was wiped near clean of his mind, and his blissful distraction had left him.

Bro's belongings were everywhere. His smuppets, some destroyed, but not all, as their creator and repairer could no longer fix them, were strewn around. Bottles of alcohol and in the bathroom drops of blood from the first few days. Bro's clothes, still clean and pressed, in his wardrobe, except one shirt which was laying on Dave's bed, for when he woke up sobbing in the early hours of the morning.

Oh how the mighty fall. Oh how the cool, stoic and composed crumble under the loss of a loved one. A brother. Who raised him and made him who he is. Who guided him and protected him when he needed him most. Who gave him some of his greatest memories, and because of Dave's stupid, _stupid_ self, he was gone.

And it was _all Dave's fault_. He would assure you.

His bro's boyfriend, Jake (who looked a little like John, when he thought about it) hadn't spoken to him since the funeral, and Dave wondered briefly if he was still as fucked up as he himself was, and decided yes, he probably was.

He made no attempt to contact him, he couldn't bring himself to face weary green eyes rubbed raw from tears.

No. his Bro probably looks down in disgust at him, but he can't bring himself to stop. The pain was almost blissful. Each agonising emotion, each tear shed or cut made, made him feel like he was paying up for what was his fault. Even though he could _never _fix the mess he had made. Not even by taking his own life. He could practically feel the spirit of his brother telling him he would punch him from beyond the grave if he tried anything like that.

It was things like that, that had kept him going.

Rose, too. She refused to leave him. Her and Kanaya both. They brought him food and sat with him and didn't question him when he broke down. Only held him.

His bro used to be like that when he was a kid. Even when he was 15 and in his second school, just before he transferred again. He was there, he even hugged Dave. Told him it was okay. The stoic older brother had let Dave cry on his shoulder. And said nothing. Nothing of how uncool crying was. Or how letting the assholes who attended his school get to him was not cool at all. Just reassuring silence, wherein actions communicated everything, and even the smallest thing was a large feat.

Dave didn't make it to his room.

Remembering his brothers embrace, how he promised Dave. _Fucking_ _**promised**_ him that he would never leave his side. That nothing could take down a Strider, he fell to his knees in the doorway to his room.

It is only now these words are realised to be _filthy_ lies. Yet they are lies so good Dave's heart ached for them to be true. For Bro to yell that there's pizza in the fridge, and be nosy about John.

_John. _

A sigh of relief shook his entire body. John. John with the blue eyes who didn't ask hard questions. Who made jokes and was his prince that wanted to see action. Who believed he could be a hero. Dave was no hero. And he never would be.


	3. The Why, which we don't know

**A/N: I'm afraid I couldn't resist speeding up their cute moments. Especially with the depressing note I left the last chapter on. I do hope you forgive me if I'm taking their story too fast, I think I might be. But it is based on an RP between myself and my moirail, I draw inspiration from 1 o'clock in the morning rambling. Not my best move, but I'm rather proud of the story so far. **

Chapter 3- Couch cuddles. We don't know why.

_TW: self-harm, alcohol._

When Dave woke up the next morning, he was sprawled in a den of cans and bottles, his entire body ached, and there was dried blood and dark lines on his wrists he didn't have last night. He didn't remember when he started drinking, or doing any of this, but he only bought some beer that couldn't- his foot nudged a vodka bottle. Oh.

There was a small kitchen knife, which Dave remembered being slightly blunt, and rather shit, caked in blood and wedged in his wall. This was quite a big mess. Though he wasn't too surprised. His mind came up with every reason to drink, drink until he was in a situation such as this.

He was in his boxers, he noted as he stood and checked his phone, over on the counter top. The walk was wobbly and his head felt like it was being beaten with a jackhammer, but he managed.

The screen was far too bright, even on its dimmest setting. He looked through his pester logs, he hadn't messaged John, thankfully. But he did ramble on to Rose, that _"how dare he go out and have a nice day w/ John when his bro was dead and it was all his fault" _though it was full of spelling and grammatical errors, he managed to translate it fine enough, and Rose didn't seem to comment on it, asking how drunk he was, and saying he _could _have a nice night, and asking how it was all his fault.

Reading that made John sound like a drug, something illegal that boosted his spirits and made him feel better. Something awful and wrong, yet so painfully right.

It made him feel wary of john if he thought of it that way, but his weary mind reminded him that John wasn't a drug. He was a human being who he had spent a nice night with. He wasn't sure if he despised it or craved it again. Because drunk-him had a point. He didn't deserve the nice time he had had with John. But he craved to have something like that again. Because honestly the guy was cute, he seemed to like Dave, he didn't go too deep into his life, and got him to joke around with him.

Which was something.

Though, the irony jokes and talks of sass were an automatic reaction nine times out of ten, he had managed to do it without it feeling so automated.

Dave sighed.

His phone buzzed in his hands. Rose.

_TT: David, are you awake? I would assume you have a rather painful hangover. In our conversation last night you seemed rather intoxicated. _

He flipped through the rest of the conversation, he only went on and on about John. At some points saying he missed him and his goofy-ass face. And when Rose had asked how drunk he was, he had said "Very" or at least, that's what Dave thought it had said.

_TG: yeah I'm awake. And yes, my head hurts like a fucking bitch. I was off my fucking tits rose. There are bottles everywhere and cans, they're everywhere. _

_TT: hmm, it seems I didn't quite purge your apartment of alcohol correctly. Would you mind going to the café? John might be working._

_TG: fuck you rose. _

He sighed again but decided yes, seeing John might be nice. And sent a secondary message saying fine, just don't ask any questions when she and probably Kanaya got there.

A quick shower, fresh underwear and a pair of skinny jeans later, Dave was at least half ready. He wandered to his phone to drop John a message, only to find that John had messaged _him_.

_EB: hey Dave! Today's Saturday, so I'm not working, and I don't have plans! So, do you want to go anywhere? Heh_

_TG: sure. I'm half-dressed atm so hang on. _

And the award for too much information, goes to Dave Strider.

_EB: oh! Heh, alright! I'll leave you to get dressed, meet me outside the café? _

_TG: sure. See you soon. _

He set his phone back down and bandaged his arms, the slopping cutting from his drunken state made it look even worse than it actually was. Dave made sure to bandage it to the point he couldn't see it. He put on a long sleeved shirt. There.

He did his hair, he brushed his teeth, did all those things most people did without thinking. Without effort. But everything took effort that morning.

He downed some water, a pair of tablets in his mouth.

There, hopefully he would feel a little better in a while.

As he grabbed his phone and keys, and left the apartment, he bumped into Rose and Kanaya. They said hello, and Dave nodded to them.

He was outside the café within ten minutes of leaving his apartment. John was standing outside the small café, putting his phone away, as he did, he noticed Dave. And smiled, and waved.

And as Dave stepped forward again, he felt his heart twist. He was going to go out, distract himself from everything via John. Was this even healthy?

Though to be fair, getting drunk and cutting yourself with a blunt kitchen knife, waking up unsurprised even with no memory of the previous night, is not healthy either.

He waved to John, who jogged up to him.

"Hey Dave! Are you okay? You look tired!" his smile this time was soft. Like the warmth of a candles flame.

"I'm fine. Rough night." John seemed to think for a few minutes, weighing up his options.

"Well… why don't we grab a coffee before we go? I'm sure Jade will give us a discount. Dave nodded, and followed the perky raven-haired man into the café.

"Hey Jade!" he called as he walked in. the café (he really should have looked at the name) had more patrons than it did the day previously. Jade waved them over to the counter, where there were red bar stools, like the one Dave had sat on when he tried to talk to John.

"Hi John! Who's this?" she looked towards Dave with a smile. "This is Dave! Dave, this is my sister Jade!" Jade nodded. "That would be me! It's nice to meet you Dave!" she giggled. "You too." She smiled again, but excused herself when she noticed people sitting down at a table.

John and Dave had situated themselves on a barstool, next to each other, leaning their arms on the counter. When Jade returned she apologised quickly.

"It's okay Jade! I feel bad, leaving you to man the place basically by yourself! But can me and Dave trouble you for two coffees?" she nodded enthusiastically.

"I have been considering hiring. Though I don't think I'd need more than or two people. And yes you can, I take it you'd like to use your discount?" John nodded. "And Dave how do you like your coffee?" but before Dave could answer her, John did. "Black with two sugars!" he blushed under the scrutiny of his siblings raised eyebrows and devious smirk. "I…think." He flushed, rather embarrassed.

"You got it right man." Dave smirked. The tips of Johns ears tinted a cherry red and his sister was close to bursting out laughing. She failed and giggled again.

"Alright. I'll go make them now." She smiled at the pair and turned to the coffee machine behind her.

The coffees arrived a few minutes later, and it took Dave all of five seconds to realise John was paying for his too.

"Dude, no, let me pay"-

"No way Dave! I dragged you out today!"

"But dude"

"No Dave. I'm paying."

Defeated, Dave sipped his coffee. The aroma was rich, and so was the taste. He allowed his eyes to close and his body to warm as the coffee did its job. He felt more alert by the time he had finished.

"So, John. What did you have planned?" he asked when both were done with their drinks, the mugs taken by Jade.

"Well, honestly I don't know. I just…felt like seeing you again I guess." He shrugged like it was nothing, but the pink hue on his cheeks spoke volumes.

Dave's cheeks were just as pink, blossoming into a deep red.

"That's cool. How about…" Dave honestly had no idea. John looked to him, expectant of an excellent idea to just flow from his mouth, so that they would spend the day together.

At least, Dave hoped that's why he was standing here. John did want to see him.

"…I got nothin' sorry John." Well that was an anti-climax.

"That's okay! Why don't we just go back to my place? I have food and video games, and man my bed and couches are _the softest_ you have no idea!" he beamed at Dave, and felt if it weren't for his shades, he would've been blinded in the best way possible.

"Sounds good to me" honestly spending time alone with John was the best possible thing he could do. Other people distracted him from the one distraction that mattered. The one that made him want to smile and laugh again.

Made him want to _feel things again. _

And that was a unique gift in itself.

The walk to John's apartment wasn't long, in fact, he lived about the same _distance _from the café as Dave did, just going the opposite direction, which made sense, since his sister owns it and everything.

John let them in, revealing a small lobby, a couple ground floor apartments and stairs leading up, and a lift to their right.

John took the lift, Dave followed.

His door was a soft baby blue, and the colour itself served as further distraction. Did John choose the colour? Or was it like that when he arrived here? How long has he lived here? Is he happy?

Whoa. Dave slows himself down. While its great to care that people are happy, the thought made his throat tighten and his stomach clench, the thought of an unhappy John.

He distracted himself immediately with _happy _John, who was leading him to the living room.

"Here alright? We can chill here, and I have some awesome movies and video games and stuff" Dave hasn't touched his games or movies in months. His Bro schooled him at the games and they laughed together, Bro and he would give ironic commentary of the movies, and they would practically hurt themselves laughing.

Dave jerks his head in a nod. It was all he could manage.

They sat and spoke idly, strengthening the bond they began to establish, and all that was good. Dave found it hard to refrain from commenting on John's shitty movie taste, and John giggled at his hobbies.

Dave found himself needing to stretch, and allowed himself to do so. He made a small whine and stretched his arms outwards, a satisfying pop and a contented sigh, he fixed his shirt, which had gone up and moved in several places.

He hoped the white and red of the bandage had gone unseen. He had actually forgotten about it, immersed in John as he had been.

His moment of panic must have shown on his face, and he looked over to John, who looked shocked, and rather worried.

"Dave? Your arm! It's bleeding!" he moved himself closer to Dave, reaching out, and Dave's mind and heart were working themselves so hard he thought they were going to short themselves out, like an overheating, overworked, machine.

"H-huh?! Oh, I'm fine!" his voice shook and he leaned backwards, softly placing a hand around John's wrist, applying enough strength to stop it from getting any closer, and he used the bandaged arm, to make sure. Even though it hurt like a bitch.

Now leaning against the arm of the couch the pair were sitting on, John with a leg on each side of his knees, an extremely concerned look over his face. He didn't really want to invade Dave's personal space, or creepy him out, or make him talk about anything. But the red was soon going to overtake the white.

"Dave…" the word itself told Dave so much. John was pleading with him. His face looked physically pained, and Dave wasn't sure if it was his heart or his wrist.

He was aware of their position. And he was aware he hadn't let go of his wrist. He didn't want to. He could bring himself out of any thoughts he would drown himself in this way. Being aware of John, being aware of his breathing and his face, the concern and the worry, etched into his face. Aware of bright blue eyes shielded by glass lenses and plastic frames.

"Please, let me take a look. If you haven't cleaned it properly it could become infected…" His throat was dry and tight and his heart ached with the heavy burden it carried every day, with John. Everything about him. His tangled up emotions, his want to smile and his happiness when he was with John, taking a moment to consider the _who _and the _why _and the _how._

He wanted to cry and explain everything, to hide his face and recite his emotions. He wanted to run. To hide. He didn't know what he wanted to do anymore.

He was sure if he was standing he would be shaking.

"Dave…please."

It was to be his undoing. The tense muscles in his face simultaneously lost all energy and his lips parted slightly. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say so, _so _much. He wanted to scream questions at the sky and at John and ask him why he cares and why his head and heart hurts and why John even _cares _about Dave.

He trembled. It was pathetic. Disgraceful, of a Strider. Everything he'd been doing had been along the same lines too. He felt a pang of shame when he noticed his tremors.

"Okay." _Please stop looking so sad. Please, John. _

His wrist is released, Dave's arm is held out for him. He can't breathe. He doesn't know how. _Oh god. _

The red of his shirt is rolled up, to his elbow. The bandage itself is about halfway up his forearm. 6 centimetres or so from his elbows.

John's fingers trace the bandaged part of his arm. Dave is choking. Choking on air. On John. His mind is full of nothing but the waiter. The waiter he already knows so much about. But what he knows simply _isn't enough_.

Slowly, and agonisingly so, the bandages are removed. John is careful. Cautious. He doesn't ask how or why or when. But he cringes and grimaces the more the jagged, deep, and sometimes angled, as if struck by a sword, his drunken state made the lines wobble and the knife dig in deeper than intended. A vague memory of a gasp of pain and a blissful agony rises within him, and he shoves it away quickly.

John sucks in air audibly, and very quickly, once the last of the bandage is gone. His lips part and his face doesn't know which expression to make. Should he look sad? Shocked? Should he cringe? Should he do nothing?

"Why Dave?" pain. His face showed him pain. That emotional state where he looked in physical pain, but emotional pain is so much worse. Dave would tell you.

"I…" he has no words. He has nothing. He goes to say he doesn't know. He's sorry. He so, so sorry and he wants John to smile again.

Nothing comes out.

"Dave, please. I'm not…I'm not forcing you to talk to me. But please, if you can, tell me how this happened. Please don't tell me what I'm thinking is true." He sounded as strained as Dave felt.

"What…what are you thinking?" John shuffled closer, now sitting on his hips. His eyes begged him. Begged him to say the opposite of what he was worried about.

"That these are… self-inflicted." A loud _gulp _filled the silence, and John understood. More pain crossed his face. Why did he _care this much?! _

"Dave I… why? Please, tell me why? Why are you hurting enough to do this?!" he got closer still, leaning over him. Getting as close as possible to try and see through those dark shades. To see his eyes. God he wanted to see his eyes.

"I… my Bro. two months ago. He… he died. He died John. He died and it was all my fault. And here I am, alive and well, when I ruined everything. He was going to propose to his boyfriend and they were going to be happy. He had a good business going, I guess. He raised me, and I owe him _everything. _But because I'm a _stupid, stupid, selfish, asshole, _he's dead. If I had gotten my shit together we wouldn't have fought so badly. I wouldn't have hurt him like I did. He wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have died." John didn't know it, but Dave had shut his eyes. Phone-calls echoing in his ears, Doctors mumbles and the slowing beep of a heart rate monitor making him feel sick, couldn't his distraction have lasted just a bit longer?

"I'm so sorry, Dave. But, that wasn't your fault. You didn't know that was going to happen."

His wrist was bleeding again. It was set down onto John's thigh.

"How could it _not _be my fault? And even now, I've been an overly emotional, pathetic mess ever since." he needed to stop being pathetic. His lip needed to stop quivering.

A soft hand to his face, and a forehead being rested against his own shocked Dave.

A soft voice. A calming one. Where was he again? What time was it? His mind was clogged with nearly nothing. John. Bro. Pain. Confusion. A whole tangled ball, most accurately described with a circular shaped scribble churned inside Dave.

"I'm going to go get the first aid kit, alright? Stay here." There were no more words after that.

John got up and Dave didn't move. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing. His hand fell onto his own leg.

He wanted to feel pain again. To stop that churning scribble of emotions and confusion.

He tried to breathe. In, out. John. Smiling. Laughing.

The very distraction himself returned with the first aid kit. He looked unsure whether or not to return to his previous-intimate- position or to simply kneel and awkwardly tend to the wound.

Either way is awkward.

"I'm sorry I got so, up close and personal there, since I was, you know, sitting on you. Hehehe. I was just…worried." Dave nods. Blood had started to dribble down from some of the cuts, onto Dave's jeans.

"You're getting blood on your jeans…" he whispered. Dave looked to him and his wrist and nodded. "I am." John knelt down and spread out the contents of the kit. Disinfectant wipes were brought out and John shuffled to Dave, who held his wrist out to him. It was cleaned in silence. Careful and soft hands cleansed and bandaged it. Running his fingers along to wounds, still trying to affirm their existence. That they were actually there.

Embarrassed, pink dusted Dave's cheeks. He hung his head. Closed his eyes. He felt John. He heard his shuffling and the rustling of plastic packaging on bandage. He felt the wounds being bandaged after being cleaned.

When he was done, the pristine white bandage was wrapped rather skilfully around his arm, wrapping around his thumb to keep it together and looking good.

John cleared everything away. He regarded the stupidity of the act, but he returned to Dave, who was laying on the couch.

And he laid with him.

"What happened, how did it get to this point, Dave?" still surprised, searching for Johns face, which he unfortunately couldn't see properly, just swirls of black hair, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Like I said, two months ago, my bro died, it was all my fucking fault. We had had this massive, dumbass fight. The guy raised me so he knew I was full of shit, and put up with it, but I went seriously out of line. He stormed out and never came home, he was found early the next morning. If I wasn't such a massive dick-bag, he would be alive. I fucked up my life, Roses, I fucking ended my bros, and his boyfriend… I couldn't look at him.

I had taken away the man he loved because I couldn't see reason.

After his funeral… I never really did anything

I couldn't. It took my sister and her wife coming round almost every day to make sure i was still alive, bathing, and eating. Drinking. Basic shit.

His stuffs still there. Right where he left it

His beds a bit crumpled though, heh..." sniffling, Dave felt his eyes sting with water, but blinked it away immediately.

"A few weeks later I left my apartment. I bought as much of the cheapest alcohol I could find.

And it kind of… went on from there. And last night. You and I fucked around, we had fun. What right did I have to enjoy myself with some cutie, like some sort of movie romance- when my Brothers rotting away with a life cut short, and his Boyfriend he had left behind, who I don't have the balls to speak to, is probably dealing with this worse than me."

John didn't do anything. He didn't say anything. He just lost himself in Dave a little more.

"It's not your fault. You can have fun, Dave. It's what your brother would have wanted, I would bet you. You need to try and get some joy in your life. Losing people is hard, and it really hurts, but living the rest of your life without moving on isn't fair on you, or anyone else, because seeing a friend, lover, co-worker, or family member so upset and depressed hurts too. I know that makes me sound selfish, but seeing you like this hurts." It does? Dave finds his arms around John. John finds his arms around Dave.

"You know, when I first saw you in the café, and saw how sad you looked, I promised myself I'd make you smile." The whisper was said into Dave's shirt. Dave heard it, none the less.

"You did?" he asked, the air in his lungs was gone, he couldn't breathe, and it was the best thing he had ever felt.

"I did. And I'm not giving up."


	4. We Have A Diagnosis

_**Chapter 4- We have a diagnosis. **_

_**Well. Another chapter. I hope you enjoy it. You know the drill, I don't own anything, but the plot, I published this at around 1am, so I hope there aren't many mistakes. **_

The weeks pass. They turn into months. John and Dave don't bring up the day on the couch. They go out and have fun. And Dave felt more and more distracted by John. His mind and heart and very soul was filled with the light of his smile and the feel of his fingers, his warmth next to Dave.

Dave didn't know what it meant. He couldn't put a name to the feelings that arose. He couldn't figure out why he had allowed his thoughts to be consumed with John. Rose would know, but when they spoke and saw each other, they spoke rarely, sitting in companionable silence. John was spoken about, but Dave never got round to telling Rose how he felt, though he knew Rose knew he wanted to say more when he spoke about John.

He didn't know how to put it into words. Because he didn't know the _why _the _how _and the _what. _

Because he didn't have anything to say, because the words escaped him every time he tried to explain. Even when he tried to say it out loud to himself in his apartment, he couldn't. But who could fail to understand, or laugh, or anything else, when he's saying it to himself? Embarrassment is not the reason for his failure to talk about his emotions.

Dave pinned it to him not being an emotional person, until now, apparently.

He didn't allow it to consume his thoughts too much.

He and John had become rather close, these past few months. They would meet up and have fun together, with playful banter and jokes and doing those dumb things young people tend to do.

Dave cherished every second. And he barely grasped why. He liked being with John, and he didn't think about Bro that much around him. The guilt and the grief held at bay with his bright smiles and ruffled hair.

He almost felt like John was making him feel…_better._

Today was the day of their first sleep-over. A thing all friends did often. Spending 24 hours with each other in one another's homes.

Dave was nervous. He was nervous because of haunting memories and dreams that shredded him up on the inside. More effectively named, _nightmares. _

They would strike almost every night. He had to think extra hard on particular things to help tip the balance in favour of a peaceful sleep. He could try, at least.

The time was 2pm and Dave was due at John's house in a mere four hours.

He was sitting in his slightly less shitty apartment. Rose had cleaned up and purged it of all alcoholic beverages. Again. She had tried when he first went to the café, what seemed like a decade ago to Dave. He felt like he could reach through time and feel what he felt that day, when he recalled it. The interest. The waiter who didn't have a name, but when he did it was such an obvious name Dave felt like he should have guessed it. The smell of apple pie and coffee.

Dave smirked softly, a ghost of an expression, really, and packed his bags. Leaving for John's three and a half hours later.

This was to be the first of many nights spent in John's apartment.

Every week or so, John and Dave would have a sleepover. Rose would drop hints when he spoke to her, but never spoke directly about it.

He didn't tell her about what happened in the nights there.

Dave would have his nightmares. He would wake up and silently drag himself to the bathroom. John would notice. He would stand outside the bathroom door, the bathroom Dave would lock himself in. and waited for Dave. When the door opened, Dave would be met with an embrace. And no matter how many nights it happened, Dave would always be just as surprised as the first time.

And it would always be just as nice, to be hugged by John.

When John hugged him, he would rub his back softly and slowly, sometimes he played with Dave's hair. Dave would have his shades on, and it would dig into John's shoulder, but he didn't care. He barely noticed.

Dave had yet to diverge his eye colour to John, to anyone but Rose, his Bro knew, of course.

Dave would squeeze John tighter and hold onto him like a lifeline when thoughts of his brother crossed his mind in the presence of his emotional distraction.

John would lead him by the hand to John's bed, and John would make sure Dave was okay, and settle the both of them back down. Both Dave and himself. He would ask Dave about his dream. He would listen. He would comfort.

It was similar to their time on the couch. Dave wouldn't know how to think or speak, but he would know how to _feel. _And he would gladly have it that way. It was a blessing within itself.

Sometimes water would prick Dave's eyelids. Sometimes he would cry. But John never saw, or never asked.

His heart hammered and he felt overwhelmed by it all, every time John led him to the bed, and lulled him back to sleep.

Sometimes his nightmares were spoken about the next morning. With soft strokes on Dave's hair and soft words from John's mouth. Dave would huddle himself in John, so he felt like he was saying the words into John, and not into the air beside him. So that there was no in-between. No middle man.

He huddled into John. Safe and warm.

His nightmares were usually about the same sort of things. His Bro would remind him how his death could have been avoided. How Dave was at fault. How Jake was ruined and Rose distraught. And it was all Dave's fault. That was the thanks his brother had received for raising Dave. Death.

And Dave would wake up and beg for his brother's forgiveness in his mind.

And John would tell him that it's not Dave's fault. It never was.

And Dave would try desperately to believe him. He really would.

After a few months, his nightmares took a new and even more terrifying form. A new terror had taken residence within Dave's mind.

They were about losing John.

He would wake up sweating and shaking, reaching for John. If he was there, he would comfort Dave, and make sure he was okay. If he wasn't, Dave was under strict orders to message John on Pesterchum.

And every time, a slightly sleepy John would appear on his doorstep not half an hour later. No matter how many times he was hugged outside a bathroom or visited by John, he would always feel that tingle of surprise. That John cared enough to do that. Any of it.

And it made the nightmares about losing him even more terrifying than he'd like to admit. And he desperately hoped that dreams _didn't _come true, because John was his lifeline, linking him to the rest of the world and stopping him from returning to a dark place he was scared to go back too. He felt like a child. But he didn't care.

But they would have banter and make jokes as they went to the park or Dave chilled in the café with John while he worked. But at night they would hold each other and fend of nightmares. It was an unusual arrangement, but it made them happy and it worked. That was all that it had to do.

Dave had set the alcohol down. Though he did crave the hit and the ecstasy that being intoxicated brought him. He missed the blissful agony of a blade sometimes. But John's scared and worried face would flash over his mind and remind him he never wanted to see that face again, and John would come back into his thoughts, maybe it wasn't healthy to think about someone as a form of grief-relief. And think about them because you want to and you can. But Dave didn't care, he had found a way to make it work.

Rose had invited him to go to a tea room with her, a few weeks later.

Dave himself wasn't one for tea rooms, but without Roses pestering's of cafes and tea rooms, he wouldn't have met John. Or maybe he would have? The thought struck him as too complicated and philosophical to go into. So he let it drift away.

As they sat, their waitress arrived. The place was relaxed and the walls were earthy colours, even the seats, tables and chairs, were earthy tones of brown, green, black and grey. A complete opposite of the bright red blue and white of the café. It was much older fashioned and dignified. Instead of a modern café where you can grab something to eat and blog about it.

Very Rose, Dave found himself thinking.

Rose ordered for him. Blue tea. She herself got camomile. When the tea was placed before him, he thought of John.

His eyes were much bluer.

"Something on your mind, David?" Dave had given up trying to get her to call him "Dave" she never did, and she never would.

"Just, the usual I guess." Dave had prepared himself in some way, his plans were half made and barely decided on. He wanted an explanation of his emotions, and knew Rose would be interested, and though it was a bad move, a really bad move, on his part, because the second he divulged anything Rose would not leave him alone, feeling like someone's rejected scribbled out drawing on the inside wasn't how he wanted to continue.

"Well, you seem more frustrated emotionally than usual, especially the past few weeks." She sipped her tea, smirking at him in that Rose-like way that made him squirm, it looked like she knew. She knew everything he hadn't told her and was just waiting for him to say it, and most of the time, she did. She did know, and was waiting for him to say it.

"Heh, Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that, since you know a lot about this emotional shit." And Shit it was. Because feeling is a two sided coin, and Dave felt like his happier side of the coin had been marred, scratched and ruined. His love, happiness and joy. But when he thought about it, since he met John, that side of the coin had been filling in its cracks and polishing out its scratches. Shining brighter than it had before.

It was strange. Dave couldn't understand it.

"Well, I'm here. I'm listening." She set down her tea, and relaxed herself, ready to listen to what Dave had to say.

"Well… I, well for fucking starters…" being suddenly the centre of attention, which mere months earlier would've made him beam, now made him sweat nervously. Clenching and unclenching fists, chewing pale lips. The words tangled themselves on his tongue and he took a further minute to sort them out. He found a place to start.

"I, ever since I met John. I've been flipped upside down. I'm not anything close to how I was before…that. But I've been going out. I smiled. He's been there and listened and he always makes me so happy and I don't know _why. _I notice stupid things about him and its diving me mad. Like, seriously. I think I'm going insane. I don't know how I'm feeling, I don't even know _what _I'm feeling, I'm just a piece of crumpled up paper, a scribbled out drawing and my stomach fucking hurts and I don't understand it at all like-" a hand is held up to silence him, he allowed himself to catch his breath.

"Slow down, David. You'll hurt yourself. I know you must be confused. And clearly distraught. But please calm yourself down. You say he makes you happy? You notice _things _about him? Care to elaborate on that?" he nodded quickly, still trying to breathe. Downing his tea and nearly chocking. He attempts to calm himself yet again, counting to ten. He tried to organise running thoughts and racing heart beats, tame them into rational thinking and calmer heart rates.

"When he's around…it doesn't hurt anymore. Or at least, not as much." Rose nodded. He continued.

"And I notice how his hair only gets messier and scruffier as the day goes on. How it curls towards the end in this really cute way" He's smiling. It hadn't been five minutes and he was smiling.

"In the morning, before he wakes up properly, he always tries to curl up into his duvet until nothing but a few black curls stick out. And when you do try and drag him out of bed, he'll grumble and whine at you and when his alarm goes off, he always hits it on his third try." He wasn't even looking at Rose anymore.

In his mind he saw John, grumbling about how cold it was. Having been rudely awoken. John making pancakes and smiling. John that time he fell out the bed, dazed and later on, laughing. Dave smiling.

"And when he serves people at the café, he'll always beam at them. Move in this animated way. It's like he's living for two people. He has so much life in him." A soft sigh. A smirk.

The sudden realisation of his dreamy eyed face hit him, and he corrected himself.

"So yeah, I notice things." He coughed. Maybe he could pass it off as the left over chokes from his tea?

Nah, he couldn't. Fuck.

Rose smiled at him. She was waiting to see if he had anything else to say. If he would lose himself once more in a ramble about raven locks and dazzling smiles.

He wanted to go on. He wanted to say "_and John's smile, oh, John's smile, you should see it, Rose. Really see it. It's like a thousand light bulbs lit up at once. It's blinding but it feels worth it to go blind, if his smile caused it." _

And Rose could probably see that too, she read him as well as his Bro did. But she interpreted and reacted in different ways.

He was grateful.

Anyone with a resemblance to his Bro at this point would send him spiralling into that dark pit of insanity known as his emotions. The 19 year old dam, already crumbling and falling apart at the seams, it would burst. It would burst and Dave dreads to think what he would actually be like, what he would do.

He would go to John.

He would.

The realisation that in such a situation, he would go to John before anyone else, makes him looked shocked. Shocked both inside and outside. Shocked for apparently no reason.

But Rose can tell when he thinks something that surprises him. She's seen that face before. Typically when he raps and suddenly a brilliant idea pops up out of nowhere, a variation of that face is seen. Or if he spoke of exams and realised he hadn't studied, the thought would hit him like a bus, and a different kind of shock would be seen.

But this face took a category of its own, and it only multiplied with Roses words. Her smirk nearly terrifying in its sheer size.

"Dave, I believe, that you are in love."


	5. To Act Upon Emotion

_Long authors note ahead, if you do not wish to read my comments, skip the bold and italic text. _

_**I apologise for the wait. But I had multiple ideas on how to continue, and was at a loss for which would better fit the story. I aim to make their love realistic, a little more down to earth. But I am unsure of how to continue, as love itself is a unique thing that has been written many times before in similar ways. Gotta keep things original, right? I also hope I didn't rush things here. I've been rather excited for the pairing to finally become slightly more apparent. Have you ever experienced that? Looking upon your own creation and going "Kiss already!" but they won't, and you know they won't because you need to wait. People need time to fall in love. Anyway, if anyone wishes to see the alternate chapter, do tell. And I would also like to thank you all for the reviews I have received, it warms my heart that you like my work! Seriously, thank you. **_

It wasn't fair.

That was the phrase Dave Strider repeated to himself many times over the following few days.

His tea with Rose had moved onto lighter conversational topics after the epiphany of the _what. _That scribbled ball, that mess of unidentifiable feelings finally given a name.

Love. Infatuation.

Fuck.

He was more and more distracted by this fact as time wore on. He spoke to John less. As if speaking to him now he understood his emotions would change things. As if John already knew.

Their silence was strikingly more silent when John comforted him after his nightmares, his heart aching too much for him to ignore John in those dark hours before the dawn. Dave feared that if it continued John would vacate his life completely, leaving him alone once again, with nothing but a sister that would provide sibling certified therapy, and "you should have seized your opportunities" reminders.

The thought made his heart ache and his throat burn. No. he simply couldn't allow it. Not now. Not after John had made such a huge impact on Dave's life.

He decided something must be done.

He had many sleepless nights following this decision, pondering what exactly could be done to simultaneously salvage the tattering bridge that was he and John's relationship and deal with his romantically orientated emotions towards the raven haired waiter, who was messaging him. Fuck.

What could he do though? He dragged himself off of his couch, and over to the kitchen counter, a popular resting place for his phone. He unlocked it. The password was the day he met John.

It was upon reflection of his password he realised that he was in far too deep, far too emotionally invested than he had realised previously. And that the more he thought about it, when he got back from the tea room at night, at that moment, debating whether or not Rose was _actually _correct, the more he thought about it, the more the evidence piled up in favour of her diagnosis. The more he thought on it, The truer it became.

He tried to stop thinking about it.

He opened Pesterchum. 6 unread messages from a Mr John Egbert. He sighed and went back to the couch.

_EB: dave?_

_EB: look, you've been really distant the past few days_

_EB: is everything okay?_

_EB: im getting kinda worried_

_EB: have I said something? _

_EB: why don't we go somewhere? Somewhere you'll like. How about this new music shop that opened up near the café? Its been there a while, so im assuming you've been? _

_TG: I had a look on the way back from the café one night_

_TG: yes_

_TG: Ill go to the bank first. _

_TG: im gonna take some money out of the money Bro left me. _

The reply took a few minutes, and if you were to look at John in that moment, he would look utterly shocked. The preserved mound of cash in Dave's bank account, transferred from his late brothers, money left untouched because if he started using it, it would make it even more official than it already was, that Dirk Strider was dead and gone. And that Dave had to pay for things himself. Eventually, get a job. He had to start living his own life, without his brother by his side.

_EB: are you sure bro?_

_EB: because if your not ready ill pay_

_TG: no_

_TG: no _

_TG: ill pay for my own shit_

_TG: ill meet you outside the shop in half an hour. _

_EB: okay man_

_EB: if your sure_

_EB: well done, im seriously proud of you :B_

_TG: heh thanks john_

The conversation ended. Dave got himself freshened up. He searched for his card, hoping to find it to avoid that trip to the bank. He failed to find it.

The woman who served him at the bank asked him many questions on how he got to have so much money in his account, and he was tense the whole time. His hands shook. Being drilled with questions about his brother. When did he die? Did he fill out off the paperwork? Yes he did. And he had to fill it out twice because while he was filling it out he broke down because the government didn't seem to give a single shit that his brother had died a day or so before.

He eventually did get his money, and his mind settled on John. John, who he was on his way to meet outside the music shop.

It turned out Dave was a little early. John arrived around 6 minutes later. At a guess, because it was too long to be five minutes, but too short to be ten. This was Dave's reasoning.

They smiled to each other, Dave smiling more stiffly and half-heartedly. His throat had closed up and he was unsure of what to do.

_Act like you usually do. _

The thought was mutual.

John had thought the same. These past few months with Dave were some of the best he'd ever known. He worried about him, fussed over him, _cared _about him, the feeling was unfamiliar. He had considered that he may have started to develop a crush on Dave. But that didn't feel like it did when Vriska was around.

So he was still unsure. It had him deep in thought when he wasn't there, because those were the times he could think clearest.

His mind seemed dull, even now.

Dave had entered the shop first. After their stiff exchange of half-smiles, (John remembering Dave had yet to smile for him, reigniting dormant determination) and John had followed behind. There were instruments on the walls and a piano in the corner, cds and sheet music on shelves and were stacked up and littered around. A man stood at the counter, next to a till and a Starbucks coffee cup.

The counter was glass, and inside were accessories for classical instruments. Valve oil for Brass, Reeds for Woodwind, beaters and expensive looking fold up stands and music books. Old time vinyl and signed cd cases.

The man at the counter barely acknowledged their arrival, and the pair were pleased about this.

John gravitated towards the piano, Dave stood looking at some _All Time Low _cds. He picked up a couple. Namely _Don't Panic _and _Dirty Work _as they had caught his eye. The art intrigued him, and he remembered how many half-baked comics he had on his computer. And he decided that maybe he should try some real art? Real comics. Maybe he could start a web comic? Though he wouldn't know how or what about.

John ran his fingers along the keys. There was a leather stool in front of the piano and he had been tempted to sit. But this was a shop, this was not his piano.

His piano was sitting in the bay window of his old home. He couldn't afford to buy his own or pay for the upkeep of a piano on his own, tuning it and polishing it, buying music and finding the time to play it, all seemed a bit much. So he left it at home when he moved out.

His dad had probably thrown it out by now. Maybe one day he could get his own. Maybe. He felt overcome with nostalgia. The yearning to dance his fingers across the keys of the instrument like he did years ago. He looked over to Dave, he was looking at violin sheet music, and had two cds shoved ungracefully in his armpit and he used both hands to look at the music. Did he play?

Detaching himself from the piano, which was a hard task, he managed to be interested enough in Dave to manage. And found himself approaching the shaded man. The shaded man who walked into the café all those months ago however, was a different man, John found himself thinking. A broken man who had no hope of healing.

But this man. _This Dave. _He had hope. He was recovering. And so tantalisingly close to smiling at John it infuriated him. The Dave he embraced at nights and cuddled with when the nights were harsh. The Dave he laughed with in the day. This almost new and improved Dave, who was in John's life, hopefully forever, he found himself hoping.

"Hey John" Dave muttered, still looking through complex sheet music. John blinked a few times, he was staring at Dave's shades. Because he had never seen his eyes. Even in their midnight cuddles and even when Dave cried, which John didn't mention but always understood, he had never seen his eyes.

That infuriated him too. He always wondered _why. _

But he didn't know.

Maybe he never would?

"Hey Dave, isn't that Violin sheet music? Do you play?" he had never mentioned actually _playing_ an instrument, though an interest in music was mentioned multiple times.

John had told Dave that they must go to a concert together. Though they had never spoken about it further. Who would they see? When? Where?

"No, Rose does. I thought I could pick any good ones I see up for her, she can pay me back later."

Though, it wouldn't be _the _money. The money from Bro. it would just be money. But he had to spend that cash eventually, Dave reasoned. He almost felt the need to thank his sister for unveiling his feelings to him, revealing the apparently blindingly obvious to him.

But he wanted to thank her for more than that. For all those days supporting him. Her and Kanaya both. They both helped him as much as they could, and now he was starting to recover, even though nightmares still plagued him and memories still bombarded him at the mere mention of "Bro" or "Dirk Strider" he was starting to _live _again.

"I see. What cds are you getting? Sorry, I'm being a bit nosy hehe" John scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. Asking questions was never his strong suit, especially when it came to asking _Dave _questions.

"A couple _All Time Low _albums. I listened to some of their stuff a while ago, and though they aren't what I usually listen to, I like them. Call it my guilty pleasure or some dressed up word shit like that."

Because that's all intelligent language is, isn't it? Simple words dressed up to sound better. To flow better and make one sound more intelligent. More sophisticated.

"Oh, I've listened to them! They are quite good. I haven't in a few years, though. I remember an old friend suggesting them when she had a bit of a punk rock phase, hehehe" yet more awkward giggles flowed from Johns mouth, and Dave's lips quirked upward in a smirk. Punk Phase?

"Did _you_ have a punk phase? Holy fucking shit call the press, alert the Queen of England, John Egbert had a "Punk Phase" Jesus on a boat, you _must_ to tell me more." John giggled, in that way that wasn't quite a chuckle. That way that Dave found frustratingly adorable.

"Well, I was about 14 at the time. And I had a friend that went all punk, She wanted me to go Punk with her, in as many ways as possible, she suggested music and clothes, talked about peircings and tattoos, I never really liked it though, so I just listened to the music and had a couple of the t-shirts she had suggested to keep her happy, sorry to disappoint Dave." Dave had made a face of mock sadness.

"And there I was, getting all excited. That my best friend was a hot punk guy I could brag about, you disappoint me Egbert." John laughed, and Dave smirked. He had set his sheet music down, and had headed over to the counter to pay for his cds, John following.

"How about you Dave? When did you listen to them?" John looked at Dave with a curious eye. It wandered without him meaning to.

"I listened to them a while after Bro died. Rose had a punk phase at about 14, too. But it stuck with her in a strange way. She was very gothic and dark and shit. Now she's sophisticated, _lesbian,_ dark and shit. Though I think she always knew she was a lesbian. Which is cool. I had a meltdown when I was about 15, maybe 14, I don't remember, but I had this melt down because I liked boys. Thought Bro would kick me out or some shit. Texas isn't a very…Homosexual-friendly place." He almost shuddered. John frowned.

"I heard. You okay Dave?" he nodded. He grabbed his cds and left the store. He sat on a nearby park bench.

John followed him out.

"Dave? Dave!" upon not being answered as he caught up with Dave, he plopped on the bench beside him, mere seconds after Dave himself sat down.

"What's wrong?" John muttered. The clouds above were non-existent, and yet here John was, feeling like a million rainclouds had covered the sky, because Dave was upset.

What had Dave _done_ to him?

"Just, memories man. I'm fine. I promise." John looked upon him with a distraught look of concerned, frustrated and his lack of being able to help him. His emotions boiled in that moment. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Dave had looked away entirely, finding interest in the ground and his own two feet.

Because another song in the genre they were discussing came to John's mind in that moment.

_I'm Not Okay. (I Promise)_

And in his mind the title, of a song he didn't remember what it sounded like or who it was by, just remembering it was a song that Vriska had on repeat, fit Dave. He would promise you he was okay, but he really wasn't.

Because looking at the apparent object of his affections was too much with memories flashing behind his eyes.

And he found that his shoes would do. Anything but those eyes. They searched him. He felt their gaze. And he couldn't taint their beauty with harsh words and bleeding wounds. With shaking hands and tender embraces of a dead man.

John's eyes ran up and down Dave's form. It seemed that with one emotional scar starting to heal an even older one reared its ugly head. But John didn't realise it was always there. You can't expect such harsh school experiences to simply be forgotten about. It seemed cliché. That Dave was constantly in emotional turmoil and John helped him. It seemed like a song on repeat.

But it was so much more complex than that.

Dave, before the loss of his Brother, was an emotional blank. His poker face game was _constantly _strong. He acted like he didn't feel anything at all. Everything that could possibly hurt was shoved into a dark, dank corner of his mind.

And then one day the dam holding that dark, dank corner away from the rest of him broke. He felt tainted by his own sadness.

But then he met John.

And suddenly things started to be okay again.

And that's probably why, in the bright light of a spring-turn-summer day, the Dave Strider looked up from his shoes.

And kissed John Egbert.


End file.
